


Rebuilding

by the_tenth_muse1



Series: You Can't Pick Your Family [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), SPECTRE (2015), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Spoilers for SPECTRE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_tenth_muse1/pseuds/the_tenth_muse1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on after Spectre, but for Q things are a long way from happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebuilding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/gifts).



> I know, it's a terrible title but I couldn't think of another one. Feel free to suggest one. Christmas gift for Juli, who's awesome! :D Spoilers for Spectre and minor spoilers for Agents of SHIELD

Quinlan picked up the phone on the third and a half ring because if he let it go to voicemail, it was entirely probable that Mycroft would storm Q Branch. It was two full days since Bond’s official retirement–the man had had an obscene amount of time off remaining–and almost three months since he’d broken off with Quinlan. While Q had been able to hide James leaving him from his brothers, the paperwork for such a high level retirement had apparently reached Mycroft with lightning speed. Given that the paperwork would have had James’s new address, Q wasn’t terribly surprised by the call. Really, that M had kept the end of the relationship from Mycroft had been far more than Quinlan had expected.

Mentally bracing himself, Quinlan answered neutrally, “Yes, Mycroft?”

“I will send him to the furthest reaches of the Arctic for this.”

Quinlan half-smiled at the barely-audible fury in his brother’s clipped tones. He was angry indeed to show that much over the phone, even a secured line. “He’s a private citizen now, Mycroft, you can’t do anything to him.”

“Please tell me you’re not actually that naïve.”

“Leave him be.”

“Quinlan.”

“No, I mean it. Leave him and Dr. Swann be, or I’ll be very cross,” Quinlan said firmly. “We dated, I clearly felt more for him than he did me, and he met someone he fell in love with so we broke up. It happens every day to untold numbers of people. I’ll be fine.”

_In a couple of decades,_ Quinlan silently added.

Mycroft made a disgruntled noise. “You can hardly be lumped in with ‘untold numbers.’ You’re far more important than that.”

A fond smile surfaced and he said, “Thank you.”

“I suppose you want me to rein in Sherlock.”

“If you would, yes thanks.”

“Fine… How are you doing?”

Quinlan was surprised by the question. Not because he thought Mycroft didn’t care, but because he so seldom showed it. Then again, things hadn’t exactly been stable with May the last year or so with her ex-husband coming back into the picture for a while.

_Who knew Sherlock’s relationship would be the most stable?_ he thought wryly. Aloud, he said, “I’m fine, Mycroft. Thank you for asking.”

Mycroft sighed a bit. “Very well. Will we see you tomorrow? May and I will be there for tea.”

Quinlan grinned and said, “I’ll come ‘round Baker Street in the afternoon. I’ve no wish to interrupt any ‘private moments’ he and John may be having.”

“Most assuredly not.”

The open revulsion in Mycroft’s voice nearly sent Quinlan into a fit of giggles. John had recently regaled him of the time Mycroft had ‘popped over in a strop’ a couple of weeks ago only to walk in on Sherlock and John having sex in the living room.

“Good bye, Mycroft.”

“Good evening, Quinlan.”

Q hung up still grinning. His personal life might be a barren wasteland these days, but at least he still had his family. Shaking his head, Quinlan got back to finishing the paperwork regarding one of his minions accidentally blowing up the firing range with a new explosive compound.

_The Analyst in question has expressed deep remorse for the unanticipated damage caused by her experiment and a willingness to have her pay docked to reimburse HMS to refurbish the firing range. I assured her that would not be necessary as the compound will, no doubt, lead to a much-reduced size in explosive devices with a further reach. In my opinion, HMS will recover the damages and more during implementation of this new compound._

_Final Result: Analyst temporarily suspended with pay for a period of three days._

Quinlan looked the report over fully once more and hit send. The rest of the branch had already gone home for Christmas so he passed only empty cubicles and the guards on duty at check points. With the sun long gone, the temperature had dropped enough for Quinlan to see his breath which made him smile. It was nicely dry for a change which meant the cold didn’t sink into his bones as it generally did.

_Maybe it’ll snow,_ he thought with a smile as he walked to the tube station.

It had been a long winter so far, though he knew that was only because James hadn’t been in it. From the moment they’d met at the museum, his life had felt on fast forward. That last mission, Spectre, had very nearly been the death of him in a literal way. Those few minutes on the gondola had reminded him how spectacularly bad he was at field ops. Shortly after making the full and unabridged report to M, he’d been informed that he would not be returning to the field. Ever. Upon pain of M’s death, likely at Mycroft’s secret firing squad.

Walking down the steps to the platform, Q’s thoughts drifted back to the weeks after Spectre and Bond’s retirement. The whole of MI6 seemed to feel his lack, though Quinlan doubted as keenly as he had. It had felt quite as though the color of life had disappeared from it, leaving him in a staid, black-and-white version.

His thoughts flashed back to the last conversation he and James had had. It had been civil and quiet. Q had been as understanding as he knew how to be and James had been as apologetic as anyone should need to be. They’d parted not as friends–too much emotion and history between them for that–but certainly not enemies. He hadn’t broken down over the end of their relationship, though from the wary look on Bond’s face at the time, the older man had seemed to expect it. As he’d said to James at the time, life went on and so would he, though James would be missed.

_Desperately,_ Q thought, momentarily closing his eyes as he waited on the platform. Even three months later, he woke in the morning expecting to be wrapped in James’s arms and feeling his breath on the back of his neck.

The subway finally arrived and he piled in with the rest of the evening commuters. He’d been on the crowded car only a few minutes when the hair on the back of his neck rose in warning. Quinlan discretely shifted closer to the doors and did his best to look unconcerned as he pressed the panic button on his mobile. Unlike most, the signal from his phone would rise through the underground and reach HQ in no time.

It took all he had to remain on the tube until his regular stop, which was what Bond had drilled into his head relentlessly when he’d taken over Quinlan’s security the previous year. Agents would await him there, likely lying in wait on the platform disguised as commuters to capture whoever threatened their Quartermaster.

Heart beating hard against his chest and breath quick with fear, Quinlan stepped off the train and walked at his normal pace towards the exit. His knuckles cracked with how tight he held his laptop satchel.

Shouting echoed directly behind him and Quinlan instinctively spun and brought his briefcase up in defense. Something slammed into it, yanking it from his hands and he was abruptly face-to-face with a large man with dark hair and wild green eyes. A knife glinted between them on the upswing, but Quinlan saw it only in his periphery, gaze locked on the madness in the man’s eyes.

A shot rang out and the attacker staggered backwards before collapsing to the ground.

Quinlan stared stupidly at the dead man on the ground, nausea twisting his stomach. He flinched when strong hands gripped his shoulders, but a low, familiar voice said, “I’ve got you,” and Q allowed himself to be brought away from the body.

“Are you all right?” James asked, patting him down. “Did he hurt you?”

Frowning, Quinlan looked up at him and asked dumbly, “What are you doing here? How did you even know?”

James ignored the question. “Are you all right?”

Quinlan nodded, still frowning. “Yes, you shot him before he stabbed me. Why are you here, Bond? You’re retired.”

Bond let out a short, sharp breath and said, “I kept your panic alert, just in case.”

“I see. Well. Thank you,” Quinlan said, numbness taking over. “I suppose they’ll want that back now.”

Bond shrugged. “I suppose that depends on who I kill for the lack of response to the alert.”

Quinlan’s eyebrows lifted and he motioned towards the now-sealed tunnel with all the agents flitting about. There’d been a response, rather a large one, but Bond had intervened before they’d been able to do so. And then it occurred to him. “You’re not licensed any longer. You shot a civilian as a civilian.”

“I doubt that I need to worry about being arrested,” Bond said dryly.

“Not this time, at least.” They both turned towards Moneypenny striding down the stairs, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. She gave Bond a brief once-over dripping with silent disdain before turning pointedly to Quinlan. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Quinlan shrugged a bit helplessly. “I’ve no idea. Something didn’t feel right, so I pressed the alert and waited to get off the tube. I’ve never before seen the man who attacked me. There weren’t any safety briefings this week, either, so I wasn’t expecting anything to happen.”

“If I hadn’t gotten here, this would have turned out very differently,” Bond said, danger lacing his voice. “Who was put in charge of his security?”

Eve arched an eyebrow at him. “That’s no longer any of your concern, Mr. Bond, is it? Thank you for your intervention and have a pleasant evening. Q, shall we?”

Q hesitated, but there really wasn’t anything more to be said. He finally just said, “Thanks,” and took Moneypenny’s arm as he turned away from Bond.

It wasn’t until they neared the black sedan parked haphazardly at the kerb that the shaking began. Eve must have felt it happen, because she silently moved her arm to his back and guided him the last few steps to the car.

“Are you going to vomit?” she asked.

Q shook his head and sat in the back seat. His hands shook violently enough that he clenched them together. That, of course, reminded him of his missing laptop. As soon as she sat next to him, he said, “My satchel.”

She smiled. “Is fine, I’m sure. I'll bring it by. When are you going ‘round to Sherlock’s?”

“About two-thirty,” he said, then gave her a wan smile. “Happy Christmas Eve.”

Eve gave his shoulder a gentle pet and said, “Happy Christmas Eve to you, too.”

The rest of the short drive was quiet. Fortunately, that allowed him time to mend his nerves. When the car parked outside his apartment, Quinlan said, “Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime, Boffin,” she teased, dark eyes bright with humor. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” he promised, stepping out.

A scant twenty minutes later, Quinlan sat in his comfortable sofa with a cup of tea and soft, acoustic guitar music played soothingly from hidden speakers. His mobile rang not even a minute later and he sighed, setting aside the tea. Sherlock’s name blinked on the screen and he answered, “I’m fine.”

“Obvious, or we’d be at hospital visiting you. The man who attacked you was a homeless man who’d been off anti-psychotic medications for nearly two months. There is a ninety-nine percent chance that he targeted you because you look remarkably like his son. There is a one percent chance he simply picked you at random. You were not targeted because of your position this time.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes. “Oh excellent. Now I have random crazies trying to kill me. That’s just delightful.”

There was a pause before Sherlock said, voice muffled but accusing, “You said he would find the news reassuring.”

Q snorted and said, “I do, actually.”

“That wasn’t sarcasm?”

“Well no, it was. But more of the, ‘why me?’ than the ‘disparaging you’ sort.”

“Ah. Well good. We’ll see you tomorrow at three. He said he was fine. John.”

“Hello Quinlan,” John said, having clearly taken the phone from Sherlock. “Are you all right? You could spend the night here, if you wanted.”

Q smiled as he said, “I’m fine, honest. Thank you for asking. I’m just going to have a quiet night in and watch telly.”

“Okay. Gives us a call before you leave so we know when to expect you.”

It sounded more like concern than humor, but Quinlan teased, “You probably shouldn’t get up to anything tomorrow anyhow, given that Mycroft and Melinda are popping ‘round.”

John snorted. “Good night, Quinlan.”

“Good night, John.”

Thankfully, the phone didn’t ring again so it was likely that Mycroft was either monitoring his phone or John had called to tell him that Q was fine. Maybe both.

Half an hour later, Quinlan poked disinterestedly at a curry he’d reheated and sighed. He had zero appetite, which was no surprise. He never took stress well. Giving it up as a bad job, he dropped it into the sink and took a shower instead, lingering under the hot water. He’d just finished drying off when someone knocked sharply at his door. Quinlan groaned, not really up for protective older brothers, and pulled on his robe.

He walked through the apartment to the door and opened it as he said, “Mycroft really, I’m…”

The sight of James standing there took a few seconds to penetrate Quinlan’s mind, his words drying up once it did. The black pea coat fit perfectly, just like it always did, and set off his golden hair and pale eyes equally as perfectly.

Quinlan belatedly said, “James. Hello.”

James half-smiled, but it gave away nothing. “Hello, Quinlan. May I come in?”

“I think not,” Q replied slowly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bond?”

James’s jaw flexed a couple of times, a sure indicator of emotion. “Nothing. It’s not… please, may I come in?”

It went against his better judgement, but Q stepped aside to let him in and closed the door after he’d entered. He took a steadying breath and asked, “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“Not just now,” James said, facing him.

Quinlan stopped a short distance away and said, “I’m going to get dressed. Make yourself comfortable, if you must.”

He left before something nastier came out of his mouth. It took less than a minute to hurry to his room and throw on a pair of pants, a tee, and some socks. He returned to the living room to find James exactly where he’d been left, standing in the middle of the room. When James said nothing, Quinlan prompted, “What did you want to discuss? It’s getting rather late and I’m sure Dr. Swann is wondering where you are. I doubt she’d appreciate knowing your current location.”

“She could care less where I am,” James said wryly. “We discovered fairly early on that we weren’t compatible for living together.”

Quinlan’s heart stuttered at the news that James wasn’t with Madeleine any longer. He kept the surge of emotion from showing by the skin of his teeth. “I see.”

James paused, then asked, “That’s it? That’s your reaction?”

Quinlan turned away from him and walked to the kitchen. He needed something stronger than tea to get through this conversation. “How would you like me to react, Bond? You’re the one who left, if you’ll recall.”

“I know.”

James’s voice came directly from behind and Quinlan shivered in reaction to the nearness. The man walked like a damn cat. He pulled down a glass and then the half-empty Glenfiddich, pouring in a dollop. Anything more could lead to… well. He didn’t plan on finding out.

Q turned and looked up at James, who was alarmingly near. Too near. Quinlan reached out and firmly pushed James back a few inches, which the ex-agent allowed. “Why did you?”

James frowned. “You know why.”

“Bullocks. If it only took a couple of weeks to find out that you weren’t compatible, then you couldn’t have been very in love to begin with. Therefore, and please don’t assume I’m an imbecile, you knew when you left that it probably wasn’t going to work out. I’ll ask again. Why did you leave me?” Q held out the glass, which James took after a moment. Alcohol was Bond’s coping technique, after all. Couldn’t deprive the man of that. He poured another glass for himself.

James’s mouth twisted into a bitter expression and he said, “I would never assume that of you, Q. Myself, definitely.”

Quinlan brushed passed him and walked back to the sofa, sitting and drawing his legs up to sit crosswise. He took a small sip of the scotch and waited.

James sat on the sofa as well, but kept a few feet between them. He took a large drink from his glass before clearing his throat and saying, “For my entire adult life, I had work and I had my love life. The few times they intersected the results were disastrous. As you know.”

Q nodded to show he was listening, though he suspected not taking his gaze from James’s expressionless face did so just fine.

“And then there was you. You were damnably young and irritatingly smart and so very easy on the eyes. I did my best to keep you in the work box but you kept… doing things for me. Whatever I asked, really. I fell hard for you long before I asked you out.”

“You never said,” Quinlan murmured, finally looking away. “Getting you to say anything regarding emotions was like pulling teeth. Which I understood, so I tried not to ask for that from you.”

James said roughly, “You should have. And you should have thrown that mug at my head when I said I was leaving. It might’ve knocked some sense into me. But you were just… calm. Very, very calm. I half expected to be electronically erased come the morning.”

Somewhat affronted, Q said firmly, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No, you wouldn’t. That’s something a tosser like me would do.” A half-smile surfaced when James looked at him. “I would like to officially claim madness for my actions, but I’m a bit too self-aware to do so.”

Quinlan arched an eyebrow at him. “That’s debatable, but continue.”

James took another, longer drink, from his glass. “She was there. She was there, and young, and lovely, and sweet and innocent. Madeleine was everything I admired about you only a woman and not involved in any way in spy craft. As a matter of fact, she made it very clear she had no intention of being with anyone who _was_ a spy. She was going to have a normal life as a doctor, with a family, living somewhere bullets weren’t a part of everyday life and that appealed to me far more than I’d ever realized it could.”

Quinlan’s heart broke just a bit more as he finally understood James’s reason for leaving. “You really do want to retire. That’s what you wanted. She was the excuse.”

James nodded, looking down at his glass. “I’m almost fifty, Q. It takes me longer to recover from missions even when I’m not injured. If I hadn’t retired, I’d’ve died in service within five years and that’s being generous. Three years ago, that was absolutely fine for me. Expected, even. But now… I could do something else with my life. You made me realize that.”

Startled, Q echoed, “Me?”

James smiled and said, “Yes, you. Every time you expected me to know something. Every time you refused to talk down to me. Every time you expected _more_ from me. I began to wonder if maybe there was more. If I should have more.”

“Well, you’re not nearly as dumb as you pretend to be. I can’t help the morons who believe your act,” Q muttered.

James laughed, looking at him again. “That right there. That’s what did it.”

A reluctant smile surfaced, though only briefly. Q’s mood lowered again as he thought about everything James had said. Though he understood the real reason now, it didn’t make the betrayal any less. He sighed.

The humor disappeared from James’s face as well. “What now?”

Quinlan took a sip of scotch, thinking. “That depends on what you want.”

James shook his head. “No, Q, it depends on you. You’re the injured party here. Whatever _you_ want, that’s what I’ll do. What do you want, Quinlan?”

“I want you back,” Quinlan said without hesitation. “But only if you want to--“

James cut off his words with a kiss. It was a soft thing, hesitant and yearning, close-mouthed. It went a long way to healing the jagged edges of Q’s heart. James gently broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against Q’s. “Of course I want to come back to you, just not to service. But I don’t think I can bear you at MI6 without me. I nearly had a heart attack when your panic alarm went off tonight. If I hadn’t already been nearby…”

Quinlan nodded mutely. The night really would have ended very differently, quite possibly with him taking up space in the morgue. “You know, I had these daydreams while we were together.”

James pulled back a bit, but only to reshuffle them closer, draping his arm over Quinlan’s shoulders. “Oh?”

“Yes. I remained in my lair with my minions,” he began with a fond smile, “while you taught the next generation of agents in the new HQ basement. You’d be a terrifying teacher, I’m sure. And you would come by at the end of the day and we’d go home together. Or you’d hang about Q Branch ruffling my minions’ feathers when an op ran late or went cockeyed. And M would have you on speed dial for advice just to drive you a bit mad on a regular basis with how he was doing it wrong. Just enough to keep your life interesting, of course, not enough to send you on an actual mission. And if the world was going to end without your help, well, the world would end because you’ve given _well_ above and beyond what any man should be asked.”

James let out a long, slow breath and rested his chin on Q’s head, pulling him in but without any pressure. “That sounds like a lovely daydream.”

Q stabbed James hard with two fingers in what little soft tissue the man had. James grunted with pain and Quinlan exclaimed, “You really are a moron! That’s your retirement plan, not a daydream! I realize that Double-O’s are recruited because they’re thick, but come on!”

Unexpectedly, James laughed and he tightened his arms around Q. When he could speak again, he asked, “And how far along was the paperwork for this retirement plan before I cocked it all up?”

Still irritated, Quinlan said snippily, “All it needed was your signature. Dolt.”

“Well. We’ll drop by next week and turn in the paperwork then,” James said, a smile still in his voice. He kissed the top of Q’s head. “I won’t presume that you’re ready for me to move back, but I would like to begin trying to make things up to you.”

Quinlan huffed in irritation, but settled down a bit. “I want you to, but yes. I think we’ll need some time to get through this. Also, when we do move in together again, we should buy a new place. A fresh start instead of cramming all your things into this place again.”

“A new home,” James murmured.

Q nodded. “Exactly.”

They sat together for several more minutes, Q resting his head on James’s chest with the other man’s arms around him. He felt more content even than he’d been the last time they’d done this because this time, he had no questions and knew exactly why James had picked him. It was silly, maybe, but in the back of his mind he’d always wondered why. _That’s probably why I took him leaving so well. I’d always partly expected it. We fell in so easily together that the whys and wherefores never got examined. Didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, I expect._

“All right. I should go or I won’t,” James rumbled at last. “I suppose you’ll be with your brothers tomorrow?”

Q nodded and grinned up at him. “Mycroft found out about your retirement just today, actually. Likely your leaving me, as well. I’m sure Sherlock figured it out shortly after you left. Tomorrow should be fun for you.”

“You’re an evil little thing sometimes, you know that?” James complained good-naturedly. He gently kissed Q as if afraid of scaring him off. “What time should I be at Baker Street?”

“Why don’t you pick me up here at two-thirty?” Q suggested, pushing off him and standing.

James stood as well and said seriously, “I’ll be here.”

Q smiled briefly. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

James nodded before stealing another kiss and leaving.

Quinlan heard the door close softly and let out a shaky sigh. It was all rather much to take in and he suspected his dreams would be troubled. He walked to the door and locked it, engaging his security system and turning off lights as he walked to the bedroom.

It was a surprise to drop off nearly right away. He woke the next morning not remembering falling asleep. It was also a surprise to find the morning completely gone with the time at half-twelve.

He snorted and muttered, “You’d think I’d be used to almost getting killed by now,” as he climbed out of bed. It didn’t take long to make a belated breakfast and get dressed in a pair of jeans and layers of sweaters and shirts. Their parents were on a cruise this year so it was a lot more casual than the previous. He’d honestly been surprised that Mycroft would break up his time with Melinda for the holiday. 

_God, has it only just been a year?_ he thought, vertigo washing over him. So much had happened, personally and around the world, it seemed as though a decade had passed since that happy weekend. _At least Melinda is safe now. Or, as safe as one can be in that line of work. I wonder if Mycroft will convince her to retire…_

He was tempted to look into exactly what it was that she and her ‘team’ had been up to since SHIELD’s breakup, reformation, breakup, HYDRA takeover, and most recent reformation.

_Not that I’m supposed to know any of that._

Q grinned a bit as he washed the glasses from the night before and the few he’d accumulated during the last week.

James knocked on the door at exactly half-two, which made Quinlan smile as he went to answer the door. This time dress slacks and shiny loafers were the order of the day and Q would bet his best tablet that a very nice shirt and suit coat laid in wait underneath the pea coat.

James smiled and said, “Don’t you look edible.”

The sharp, almost anticipatory look in those pale blue eyes sent a rush of heat through Quinlan. It had been months, after all. He wagged a finger at James and said firmly, “No shenanigans, you. I’ll just be getting my jacket and the presents and we can leave.”

James assumed an innocent expression which just made Q roll his eyes. It only took a few minutes to put on his coat and grab the bag already filled with wrapped presents. He’d had them professionally done, not having the time nor inclination to spend on the wrapping. James took the bag from him and said warmly, “After you.”

Quinlan smiled and said, “I have to lock up, remember?”

James shrugged and preceded him out. Q took a few seconds to lock up and engage the security system before they walked to the elevator.

The Aston Martin waited at the kerb outside, though how James had managed to get a spot at all, he had no idea. Once they were in traffic, James put his hand on Q’s thigh. The move startled him, but he relaxed into the touch and smiled over at James. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” James said, smiling back briefly. “How did you sleep?”

Quinlan shrugged and said, “Better than expected, actually.”

James nodded. “Good.”

He’d almost forgotten how quiet the other man could be when there was no need for conversation. The drive to Sherlock’s was silent, but surprisingly not uncomfortable. It felt like they’d never been separated, if Q was being honest with himself. It would be easy to just fall back in to how they’d been despite the hurt; too easy, probably.

James miraculously found a spot right in front of 221, parking easily between a delivery truck and a black sedan. It looked like Mycroft had beaten them there.

Quinlan shook his head and said, “Did you sleep with the Goddess or God of parking back in the day?”

James laughed, blue eyes merry. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Look, Q, before we go in.”

Q shot him a curious look. “Yes?”

James took his hand and laced their fingers together as he said, “I know I didn’t say it often, but I do love you. I know how very lucky I am in you and I’ll do my best to never hurt you again. I swear it.”

Quinlan’s throat dried up without his say-so at the rough words and earnestness in James’s eyes. Another ragged part of his heart smoothed over at the sincerity. He leaned forward and kissed James, putting all the love and acceptance he had into it.

James groaned and opened his mouth, kissing back and taking control. His free hand slid through Q’s curls, latching into them to hold him in place as his tongue slid into Quinlan’s mouth. Pleasure surged through him and he opened to the onslaught, wrapping his arm around James’s neck to keep him close.

A sharp rapping on the car startled him into jerking back from James, heart pounding in fright instead of passion. Mycroft peered into the car, umbrella in hand and one elegant eyebrow lowered in disapproval.

The absurdity of being caught snogging by his eldest brother struck and Q laughed, collapsing against James. “Oh my God. My life is ridiculous!”

James nipped at his throat before releasing him entirely. “I suppose I’d best start groveling.”

“Rather a lot, I expect,” Q agreed blithely, feeling oddly giddy. “Come along, Bond.”

Q got out of the car and said, “Afternoon, Mycroft! Isn’t it a lovely day?”

Mycroft glowered at him. “That remains to be seen. I didn’t think to see _you_ again, Mr. Bond.”

“I didn’t expect to be seen by you again, Mr. Holmes,” James replied easily, reaching into the back for the bag of presents. “Quinlan has, thankfully, changed that.”

Q took James’s free hand and said, “I have and I’ll thank you to respect that, Mycroft.”

Mycroft made an irritated sound but simply said, “I believe Sherlock may require more convincing.”

They walked inside behind him and Q could see James was practically bracing himself for vitriol and accusations. Q was a bit more sanguine as to how Sherlock would react to James returning to his life. John had, after all, taken Sherlock back after far more excruciating circumstances.

Inside, he found John in his customary seat and Sherlock at the music stand by the window in only his dressing gown, from the looks of it. “Hello, brothers’ mine. Happy Christmas!”

John smiled as he stood, though it seemed a little more faded than his usual enthusiasm. “Afternoon, Quinlan. James. Happy Christmas.”

Sherlock whirled towards them from the music stand and strode to them, stepping over the hassock in the way. He aimed the bow directly at James’s face and said, “You hurt my brother. I’m deciding whether to use acid or poison to kill you.”

James pursed his lips for a moment. “Doesn’t it defeat the purpose to warn me?”

“No.” Sherlock whirled back around and returned to his spot by the window.

Quinlan grinned and then looked at Mycroft. “Where’s Melinda?”

“Returned to work early, unfortunately,” Mycroft said shortly, going to sit on the sofa. “Another emergency.”

Q felt bad for being so cavalier. No wonder Mycroft was more dour than usual, even accounting for James’s reappearance. “Ah. Sorry to hear that.”

“Quinlan, mind helping me in the kitchen?”

He looked at John in surprise, but found only bland neutrality staring back at him. Q shrugged out of his coat and handed it off to James. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here. I hope,” James replied, looking warily between the brothers.

Q followed John into the kitchen and asked, “What can I do? And is that a new refrigerator?”

“It is. One experiment too many, I’m not afraid to say,” John said with a grin.

They chatted about not much at all while pouring out boiled potatoes and carrots, the subsequent mashing and buttering thereof, and pulling the goose out of the oven. Everything smelled heavenly. Quinlan had expected to be interrogated about James, but nary a word on the subject passed John’s lips. He peeked into the living room now and again, but things seemed civil at a glance. Sherlock played random festive pieces on his violin while Mycroft read the paper. James kept his eyes on the telly, though he was probably keeping an eye open for packets of acid and/or poison.

Just after Q and John finished setting the miraculously cleared table, John asked in a low voice, “Are you all right? He hasn’t forced himself back into your life, has he?”

Astonishment lit through Q at the question. John meant it, he could tell. But then, he was a soldier and a doctor so he likely knew all about men who used any means necessary to get what they want. Quinlan surprised them both by hugging John, who belatedly hugged him back. When he straightened, Q said with a smile, “I’m fine, truly. James had… well, a bit of a mid-life crisis I guess, but he’s come to his senses. We talked it out and it won’t happen again.”

It wasn’t until John relaxed that Quinlan realized just how tense he’d been. He smiled and said, “Good. I’m very glad. I quite like him for you. Sherlock! Stop it.”

Startled, Quinlan turned to find a small dart in his brother’s hand. It was almost hidden by the bow, but not quite.

Sherlock scowled. “But John!”

“No. Quinlan will be _very_ cross with you for knocking him out,” John said firmly.

Sherlock met Q’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s not permanent. I’m almost positive it’s not permanent.”

Quinlan shook his head, amused and resigned. “Definitely very cross.”

Sherlock heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

John announced with forced cheer, “Dinner’s ready! Come to the table.”

James unexpectedly stood once everyone sat. “Before we begin, I would like to clear the air. I did a very stupid thing a few months ago by leaving Quinlan and hurt him in the process. My reasons are my own, as weak as they are, and we’re working through it. I _will not_ hurt him again if it’s at all within my power. I expect to spend the rest of my life with him for as long as he’ll allow.”

Quinlan reached up and took his hand, smiling as he tugged him down into sitting.

Sherlock stood and walked over to them, calmly reaching down to remove James’s plate and bringing it over to the kitchen where he promptly dropped it into the garbage.

John sighed. “Well, at least there won’t be a trip to A&E today then. Sherlock, please bring him a clean plate.”

Q chuckled and said, finally meaning it, “Happy Christmas, everyone.”


End file.
